


Kevlar

by Ladycat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Schmoop, always a girl Rodney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I did not swoon," Mer says, grumpy and mulish and slurring just the tiniest bit. "Do not say I swooned, Sheppard, or so help me I will always use up the hot water and never let you share with me ever again. And then you'll always have cold showers, and that'll.. that'll make you... "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kevlar

"I did not swoon," Mer says, grumpy and mulish and slurring just the tiniest bit. "Do not say I swooned, Sheppard, or so help me I will always use up the hot water and never let you share with me ever again. And then you'll always have cold showers, and that'll.. that'll make you... "

Her toes are dripping. She's aware of that, each water droplet magnifying the pores of her skin and it's a little disturbing to think about pores on her toes. It's just that the light is pretty and distracting. It hurts, too, a fizzy, frothing ache right behind her retinas but she's not thinking about that. Otherwise she'll remember swaying and probably puke everywhere.

Instead, she tucks her head against John's neck and tries not to whimper. "I didn't swoon." He smells like worry. Like deserts made of bleached bone.

"Want me to say you fell asleep instead?" His voice isn't light. It's trying to be, but really it burns with worry, vicious and cutting with fear. "That you were stupid enough to work without stopping -- again -- and you fell asleep in the shower and fell on your ass." Her face, actually, hard against the tiles. "Think that'll go over better? I do. It can be an object lesson for othe other scientists to not be stupid."

He sounds like Jessie's parents did, so many years ago, when Jessie didn't run away so much as forget what time it was because they were playing, and they'd had to run all the way home. There'd been a policeman along the way and Jessie's mother and father sounding just like this, so angry, so furious as they hugged Jessie to them tight, tight, tight.

Her parents hadn't even noticed. The policeman had been kind of surprised about that.

"You have to sound like this for our kids," she babbles, swallowing convulsively as they swing past a doorway too fast. Why are all their doorjambs white? It's such a boring color. They need more colors. "Okay? You can't not care. You have to be angry."

John ignores her. He probably doesn't understand, but if she asks, he'll just say he's busy. He's so careful with her as he lowers her to the bed, and she's grateful because each twitch of his arms -- thick and powerful, she loves to run her hands over them -- makes her stomach lurch unhappily. Finally she's settled and then John's on the bed with her, his body warm against her side as his fingers touch, long and delicate, butterfly wings made of ice as he examines forehead and nose and cheek -- ow! -- and ears, running over the hollows underneath with his thumbs while he stares at her.

"You're bleeding," he whispers.

She knows. She can feel the blood, hot and disgustingly wet, on her cheek. It's not bad, though. She knows what bad is, now, and she knows when it's just stupid pain, fleeting pain, like papercuts that go on forever but don't really matter.

John's tone of voice matters.

He's gone before she can tell him don't be stupid, she's fine. Except she doesn't feel fine, spinning and spinning on a bed that shouldn't be moving. She closes her eyes and whimpers, hating how weak she sounds. When John comes back he's carrying a bag that produces antiseptic and bandages and warm water -- not cold, not now -- and later there's soup and juice -- pomegranate, mmmm -- and he stays with her the whole time, cuddled up close like he's kevlar, protecting her from the outside world.

"You have a job to do," she says, grumpy again. He won't let her have her laptop. Even worse, she can't really read well enough to use is, if she had it. "Why aren't you doing it?"

John looks at her, starburst eyes and grim, tightly controlled face, and says, "I am doing it."

After that she stops fighting as much. She's still grumpy and annoyed and hates that rehydration means going to the bathroom so much, because standing is evil, even with John wrapped around her like they're going dancing, but she's cooperative about it, at least.

John gets it, too. Around One Life To Live he stops looking like he's going to murder their tub. He still makes her watch soap operas, though. He says it's punishment for being stupid enough to forget to drink for two and fall over in the bathroom.

He never once says 'swoon'. Even when half her lab calls to double-check and the base-doctor makes a housecall that John didn't have to request.

Mer promises death to Carter. She is not some distressed maiden in a fairy tale.

But she is tired, the pregnancy weighing more heavily than she expects it too, and her head hurts. So when John rubs the back of her neck, slowly easing her onto his stiff, angular body until he reaches that point where he just goes fluid, meeting and matching all of her curves until he's the most comfortable thing ever, Mer doesn't say anything.

When he kisses her temple, though, she says, "I'm sorry I swooned."

He just kisses her again. "I'm waking you up in an hour."


End file.
